To Be Human, Part 4
by Princepen
Summary: Part 4 of continuing story, which could be alternatively titled: "What ever happened to Jenice Manheim?" hopefully someone out there cares about poor Jenice. I had lost some momentum on this story, but it's now back. Thanks for reading/reviewing.


**Part 4 of "To Be Human"**

Admiral Richard Haftel lay awake, waiting for the effects of the sleep sedative to take effect. It had been a stressful day, but the hull breach had been repaired. The deaths of thirteen civilians and scientists had shocked him. Would history judge him as a callous, unfeeling man? So many had died, and only he knew the importance of their sacrifice. These thoughts brought back memories he had until now, been able to keep buried in the back of his mind.

He shut his eyes. Mercifully, over the past few months the gruesome images had begun to fade. By the time he had arrived at the scene of the accident, the choice had already been made for him. They were all dead—or nearly so—except for his Sylvia. For him it had never been a question of who to save. By the time he had arrived, Sylvia had nearly been repaired. The only other person he may have been able to save was Jenice Manheim. But it was not possible. He had tried to make Manheim understand.

"_What do you mean she's dead?" Manheim's icy blue stare pierced through the darkness of the lab._

"_I'm sorry, Paul. I-I couldn't save her. I couldn't save any of them." He began to sob. Suddenly, Manheim struck him, a vicious blow to the side of his head. He staggered back against a nearby table._

_Manheim advanced on him, fists curled. "Where is my wife? Goddamn you, Haftel!"_

"_There may be another way," said Haftel defensively. "But you have to get us back there, Paul. Without the technology we can't bring her back."_

_Manheim pushed his palms into his temples. His voice trembled with rage and despair. "Bring her back? Bring her back? What are you talking about?" His eyes searched Haftel's face for some glimmer of truth._

_Haftel straightened, realizing that Manheim had begun to listen. "Sylvia," he called out. "Come here, my dear." Sylvia Sharpe stepped through the doorway to the lab. She looked perfect, unblemished._

_Manheim's face was ashen with disbelief. "But—but you said…"_

"_I know," Haftel nodded, eyes glinting in the dim light. "But here she is, as good as new," he said putting his arm around his beautiful daughter._

_Manheim fell to his knees staring into the distance. "Jenice," he whispered. "I am so sorry."_

"_Paul, I told you before that together we can achieve the impossible. Now do you believe me?"_

* * *

"Data, report," snapped Picard. The android joined him as he stepped out of the turbo lift at the main sickbay level on the Enterprise and they immediately began walking quickly toward their destination.

"The hull breach on the Daystrom Institute was indeed caused by a time shift, Captain. For reasons unknown, when the station the time shift took place, the station was, for lack of a better word, pulled toward the planet, sir. The shift caused strain to the structure of the space station, causing the hull breach."

They halted outside sick bay. Part of him wanted to turn around and walk back in the direction he had come in. He was glad Data was unlikely to notice his moment of hesitation. He knew that Vash had been injured, and that Riker had found her and brought her to safety. But he had no idea what to expect when he walked in there. He shook disturbing thoughts from his mind. "Has the breach now been fully repaired?"

"Yes, Captain, and as a precaution Admiral Haftel has raised the station's shields."

Picard nodded, and looked at the deck. "Thirteen lives lost, and ten more injured" he said dully. "Manheim and his damn games," he muttered; the words felt bitter in his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he stepped in to Sick Bay, Data following without another word.

His eyes scanned the room for Vash, but what first caught his attention was the sight of Beverly Crusher leaning in to say something softly to Will Riker, as he sat up on one of the examination tables. A shot of jealousy coursed through his body, and his heart began to beat furiously. An unwanted image of Beverly in Riker's arms flashed through his brain. Tight- lipped, he watched as Beverly laid her hand gently on Riker's thigh as she spoke to him in hushed tones. They were laughing softly about something. He felt a sharp pang in his chest. Why was it so easy for her to be intimate with Riker? Perhaps, he chided himself, because Riker was easy to be intimate with and he, on the other hand, was not. Attempting to shake off his insecurities, he noted that Riker had already noticed him standing there. Despite his raw jealousy, Picard was glad to see the man appeared to be unharmed. He nodded curtly, wondering how much of his true feelings had played over his features as he stood watching them.

Beverly turned with a slightly startled expression, which changed quickly to the same defiant look he'd last seen on her face at their last meeting. She patted Riker on the arm, and with a resigned look walked toward Picard. He felt a visceral feeling of dismay at her negative reaction to his presence. Was this all about Vash, or something more?

Crusher waved him over to a bed in a darkened corner, and he followed. Picard took in a sharp breath as he got his first glimpse of Vash. To his surprise, Crusher put a comforting hand on his bicep, and gave him a genuinely sympathetic look.

"How is she?" Captain Picard looked down at the sleeping woman, noting the bruised appearance of her face and arms.

"Her right lung sustained damage, she had hypothermia, and her skin sustained some damage, which I was able to repair, Captain. Altogether, relatively minor effects of rapid decompression. The bruised appearance will continue to fade and should be gone in less than a day."

"What about the others, Doctor? Why are they still in the re-compression chamber?" A shadow of guilt passed across the Captain's face as he seemed to notice for the first time, the long tube-like chamber set up in main sickbay.

"They just need a bit more time to recuperate. Vash was lucky, all things considered," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "The fact that she was closer to the interior of the room, and farther away from the view port when the hull breach occurred was the key to her survival, and the reason why her symptoms of decompression sickness are not as severe as most of the other survivors. The most severely affected people had to remain on the station to receive emergency care. Two people sustained organ failure and couldn't be saved. "In a way, the ones who were blown out into space were the luckiest."

"Doctor," said Picard with a quiet reprimand, his brow furrowing. "What a thing to say."

"Captain, you didn't see those people—I did. Personally I'd rather not see anyone suffer."

"And I would rather not see anyone die," he shot back. They held each others gaze uncomfortably for a few moments more. Finally Picard's expression softened somewhat. "Thank you for your efforts here today, Doctor. We were all lucky to have your expertise." Beverly nodded, but the smile she gave him was only a professional one.

"Did someone say something about dying?" asked a rather tired sounding voice. Picard and Crusher simultaneously turned in the direction of Vash, who had unexpectedly awoken. Crusher began checking her vitals without a word.

Picard broke into a relieved smile. "Not to worry, you're going to be fine," he reassured her. Distinctly aware of Crusher's presence, he reached out to brush the hair back from Vash's face.

"What no kiss? Well, I'm sure I look like hell anyway," said Vash, glancing up at Crusher. Crusher simply smiled sweetly, offering no opinion, which spoke volumes. "Thank you Doctor," said Vash. "I suppose I owe you much more than that for saving my life today."

"Actually," said Crusher smoothly, "it was really Commander Riker who found you just in time."

"Remind me to thank _him_, then," said Vash with a yawn.

"Oh, I'm sure he'd like that very much," said Crusher wryly. Picard tightened his clasped hands and considered attempting a stealthy exit. Obviously little he said in the presence of these two could go well for him.

Vash propped herself up on her elbows, wincing slightly. "So, when am I free to go, Doctor?"

"I'll release you in a few hours. By tomorrow you should feel—_and look_—as good as new. Oh, but…."

Vash and Picard both fixed her with anxious stares. "But what?" demanded Vash.

Crusher gave them a knowing smile. "Try to abstain from any strenuous exercise for a few days." Giving Picard a friendly pat on the shoulder, she left them alone.

Sitting up, Vash laughed. "Does she ever let anyone get the last word?"

"Certainly not me," Picard muttered. She attempted to pull him toward her for a quick kiss, but he resisted. "Not here," he said, glancing over his shoulder self-consciously. Beverly Crusher was tending to a patient and absorbed in her work. But when Picard turned back to regard Vash, it was clear that the meaning of his hesitance had not been lost on her. She looked at him searchingly, her curiosity, outweighing her jealousy.

* * *

Kivas Fajo was bored, bored, bored. What a life, waiting for the next thrill to enter his orbit so he could reach out and snatch it, only to have its shiny newness dim within a few months. His most recent thrill had been one he was never interested in repeating again. Maximum security prison had been interesting, even sometimes thrilling, but ultimately he had grown bored. A mind like his needed constant mental challenge and stimulation, something he was not likely to receive living around with a bunch of caged animals. Once he'd decided to make a break, it hadn't been too difficult, and he was out in a few months. He'd met more than few shady politicians with exotic interests in his trading and collecting circles, and almost all of them were susceptible to blackmail. He'd been sprung; the only problem now, was that he was now more or less a fugitive. Well _that_ was exciting, at least in theory. But now he had a ship, a crew, and most importantly, he had begun his collections again. Oh how he loved his collections! But until he had that one special toy, the one that had brought him both the most joy and the most consternation, he could never be satisfied. But arrangements had already been made, and this time, everything would be perfect.

* * *

"Who told you to speak with me?" demanded Bruce Maddox. His words were directed at Geordi LaForge but his eyes rested acutely on data.

Geordi cleared his throat. "Dr. Brahms", he replied carefully. He had decided to follow up on the lead Leah Brahms had given them; mainly that Bruce Maddox might be willing to talk to them about the circumstances around Manheim's death. Data had thought her suggestion wise and although skeptical that Maddox could be of any use to them, Geordi had agreed.

Unexpectedly Maddox sat back in his chair as if the wind had suddenly been sucked from his chest. "Well?" he prompted, his haughty tone making his deflated posture somewhat puzzling. "I know you're here about Manheim's death. What could I possibly know about that?"

"That is," said Data mildly, "what we were in fact wondering. We would like you to tell us everything you know about that event."

"Well that's easy enough," said Maddox with a subtle press of his thin lips. "I know nothing about how he died." He turned to Geordi with a probing stare. "Most people wouldn't waste the opportunity for an interrogation by allowing a robot to ask the questions, Mr. Laforge."

Laforge bristled. "This isn't an interrogation—you agreed to speak with us, and you're free to leave at any time. And, with all due respect _sir,_ Data has worked just as hard as you and me to attain his rank, and he deserves your respect."

Maddox's laughed. "Don't start an argument you will surely lose, Commander. Data was programmed to be what he is: a passable replica of a human being. His career as an officer is due to exceptional programming and being in the right place at the right time. No more and no less-"

"Commander Maddox," interrupted Data calmly. "What is your relationship to Sylvia Sharpe?"

Maddox smiled. He wondered to himself-had he heard just the slightest edge in Data's voice? Of course, that was not possible. "Oh, so that's why you're here. Leah always _has_ been a bit jealous of Sylvia. You know I'm not surprised to learn she still holds a torch for me..."

LaForge grimaced at the thought. "You're kidding, right? Leah's married."

"Oh you didn't hear? She's been divorced for six months, LaForge…if you're still interested you'd better strike while the iron's hot, so to speak." Maddox smiled thinly at LaForge whose mouth still hung open awkwardly at this news. The thought of Leah being single gave him considerable pause, as did Maddox's boast that Leah was romantically interested in Maddox.

If Data had been human, he would have been irritated. Instead he reminded LaForge gently, "Geordi, we have diverted significantly from the topic at hand."

"Right" LaForge nodded, snapping out of his funk. He knew he could not allow Maddox or his own obsessive thoughts about Leah Brahms to distract from the mission. "You never answered Data's question," said LaForge turning back to Maddox. "Now I don't know why Leah suggested we talk with you but—"

Maddox suddenly sighed indicating he had grown tired of this game. "Yes, Sylvia and I are romantically involved and she's also the top researcher in my lab. Look, something happened to Sylvia nine months ago, and she can't—or won't tell me what."

Data tilted his head curiously. "Did this event happen during the course of her research in your lab?"

Maddox shook his head. "No, Haftel had wanted her for a special project and I agreed to let her help out. I assumed that it was a robotics-related project, since that is Haftel's specialty. At least so he says," Maddox added with a smirk. "The truth is, I wasn't happy about it. I'm Chief of Robotics on this station. Haftel gave up that distinction when he decided he wanted to be the administrator and push a data pad around his desk. If he was continuing the robotics research he started on Galor IV, he should have at least notified me first."

"Commander, your concerns appear to center around damage to your reputation and ego, not the welfare of Ms. Sharpe," observed Data.

Maddox's smile tightened further. "I happen to care very deeply for Sylvia. As for my ego and reputation, they are quite intact, thank you very much."

LaForge resisted the urge to take a dig. "So how did you come to suspect that something happened to Sylvia?"

"One thing that Sylvia told me shortly before the incident was that she was working with a team of Starfleet personnel, not civilian scientists. Rumors had begun to circulate within the scientific community here, that four Starfleet officers were involved in secret research on the station. What they were doing here was never revealed, and before we knew it they had disappeared before anyone could launch an inquiry. Then one night, Sylvia kissed me goodbye and told me she would be back in the morning. Before that night I had never seen Sylvia scared…it shocked me. She didn't return the next morning, as promised. Instead, she showed up in my quarters the next evening, nearly 24 hours later. She looked fine physically, but when I questioned her, she had no memory of where she had been, and what she had encountered. I asked her about the team, and she just stared at me blankly. She looked…lost. Almost a week later, it was announced that Jenice Manheim had died."

* * *

Haftel opened the smooth hatch to the chamber carefully, almost reverently. Every time he entered it he recognized he was one step closer to his ultimate goal. The lights were on, but were low. He raised them, and was not surprised to see a slim shape hunched across the room at a control panel.

"Really, honey, you're going to hurt your eyes working with the lights so low," said Haftel, feeling a swell of pride as he watched his daughter's deft hands moving almost effortlessly over the instrumentation. Every time he saw her beautiful face, he thanked the stars that he had brought her back from the brink, and that she had possessed the will to come back. She had been stronger than the rest of them, certainly stronger than Jenice had been; a truth that Manheim would resent Haftel for until his sudden death only days ago.

Sylvia Sharpe turned from her work, with a warm smile. "Dad, you always say that…" she turned back in earnest to her work. "Anyway, since the accident I feel my eyesight has somehow been sharper. I can keep working and not get tired."

Haftel smiled. "If it weren't for you Syl, I don't know what I would do. That accident could have been a major setback for us, but instead, we've only progressed." He touched her shoulder lightly, the only person he ever dared show affection. "And I have you to thank." He studied the controls for a moment more. They certainly seemed alien. Not like the more intricate and flat touch controls used by Starfleet. It was a slow process, fusing this strange technology with that of his own. But it was the key to success.

Haftel turned to regard the center of the room. The platform was smaller, more refined than the original. But it was not finished. He needed at least weeks, not the days he knew remained before the entrance on the planet surface became too unstable to traverse anymore. He knew that when it was gone, only Manheim could bring it back. And Manheim, he was so often reminded, was dead. As much as he would like to use his own device to construct his prototype, it was not ready. So he would have to go back to the source.

* * *

**Paris 2323**

Freshman Cadet Jean-Luc Picard awoke from a light slumber. Covered in only a light sheet, he lay in the Paris apartment of the most beautiful girl he had ever met. In fact, she was a woman, nearly three years older than his 17 years of age. The large window next to the bed was still open. Stretching his arms above his head, the warm spring air played across his body, and he shut his eyes blissfully, listening to the sound of the street. With some melancholy he noted it was now dusk. Somehow, he supposed, the most joyous day of his life had to end sometime.

Just six hours ago, he had become the first freshman cadet in the Academy's history to win the 40K marathon. The race had taken place on Danula II, a sweltering planet with an unbearably dense atmosphere and a heavy gravitational pull. After crossing the finish line Picard had fallen to the soft clay in joyful exhaustion. He stared up at the purplish sky and when it stopped spinning, he sat up and locked eyes for the first time with Jenice Bertrand. Her curly blonde hair shone radiantly framing her delicate face. As he stood up, he was tackled by one exuberant friend and then another, and when he shook them off, he saw the young woman disappearing into the still cheering crowd.

Despite his elation at having won the most honored race held by the Academy, Picard was compelled to find this woman in the crowd, and by sheer force of will, or perhaps fate, they found one another again. Actually, although less romantic, it turned out that Jenice Bertrand was on Danula II to cover the race as a reporter for her university news service. It had also turned out that she had traveled to the planet in her father's private shuttle, which had near warp capability. What had followed been a bold invitation for Jean-Luc to follow her to Paris that same afternoon, which he had eagerly accepted. Her father was a well-known professor of the humanities at the University of Paris, where Jenice was attending and studying ancient literature.

Jean-Luc Picard had never been with a woman before Jenice, and the exultant feelings he had experienced that first day in Jenice's apartment had surpassed even winning the marathon earlier that day. His eyes now shut tight, he remembered the events of the afternoon with a smile, and felt himself becoming aroused again. "Jean-Luc…Jean-Luc?" Jenice had returned to the apartment. "I brought dinner." His young heart fluttered, at the sound of her soft yet confident voice; the voice of the woman he knew he had already fallen in love with. As he heard her footsteps near the bed, he turned over and opened his eyes.

He blinked twice, and let his eyes adjust to the light in his quarters. His quarters on the Enterprise…he slowly realized, emerging from his dream state. It had been a very erotic dream, and his body was covered in a thin film of perspiration. Now awake, the disappointment of reality made him instantly cold.

He blinked again and turned his head. Just before waking he'd heard Jenice call his name, and yet now he saw that next to his bed stood, not Jenice, but Vash. She was staring down at him with a peculiar look on her face. He sat up suddenly in bed, gathering the sheets around him, feeling incredibly intruded upon. He noted that Vash's face looked healed; however, she looked quite unhappy. He cleared his throat. "How long have you been here?" was all he could think to ask.

Vash folded her arms, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Picard shifted to the side. She looked at him pointedly. "Long enough to know Beverly Crusher is apparently not my only competition on this ship."

Picard shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What are you talking about? Competition?"

"Who is Jenice?" She asked abruptly. Picard shut his eyes briefly. It was very odd to see Vash appearing to be jealous. He was not at all comfortable.

"No one," he said. Her eyes narrowed, and he corrected himself. "Well she was someone; someone quite wonderful in fact, but she died recently. In fact she was living on board the Daystrom Institute when she died unexpectedly."

"My God, I'm sorry Jean-Luc. And you just found out?" He nodded. "Why didn't you tell me?" He was silent. "Did you love her?" Vash's simmering anger had turned to sympathetic curiosity in a moment. She put a hand on his knee.

"Yes, but that was a long time ago." He glanced at the clock. "Look," he said, standing up and throwing on his bathrobe, "I don't know why you came by my quarters, but it's getting late, and I'm going to be late for a meeting this morning."

"You don't know why I came by?" She grinned devilishly. "Well, I was feeling much better, and I _hoped_ that you would like to join me in ignoring Dr. Crusher's advice…but when I got here to my surprise you I saw you were already with another woman—at least in your dreams." She smiled up at Picard's look of frank embarrassment.

She stood up and moved away from the bed toward him. He wrapped the robe tighter around his waist. Vash sighed at his modesty, and his tiresome adherence to duty. "Don't worry Jean-Luc, I'm not going to seduce you and make you late for your meeting." His body posture relaxed somewhat but he still watched her warily as she began to pace around the room.

"Actually, Jean-Luc, I've been meaning to tell you something." She paused to see if he was listening. He regarded her with raised eyebrows, which was a good sign that he was. "So I've been offered this deal and it looks to be pretty lucrative. I just wanted to let you know, because it means I'll be gone for a few days."

"Gone? Where to?"

"Exo III—"

"What?" Picard was across the room in two seconds, and had her hand in his grasp. She frowned at his unexpected reaction. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. "Exo III has been closed off to visitors for years."

"Apparently there's been a change in policy, Jean-Luc." She was disappointed that this was the most emotion she'd been able to get out of him.

"According to whom?"

"Well, I should talk about barren planets more often if that's what it takes to get you going," she said trying to change the subject. She hadn't expected him to be upset about her destination—well maybe she'd hoped he would be a little upset that she was leaving.

"Vash…this is serious. Now who are you making this deal with?"

Her mouth opened and she was about to tell him. But something about his intense reaction and his glowering stare, made her reconsider. She put her hands on her hips. Her voice was quiet but sharp when she spoke. "You might be Captain of this ship, but you don't command me, Jean-Luc. And I don't have to take orders from you or anyone else" she added pulling away from him and heading towards the door. She paused and turned back towards him. "You know, you seem to have forgotten that there are much more enjoyable ways to get me to communicate with you. See you around, Jean-Luc."

Vash came out of Picard's quarters at such a fast clip that she nearly ran in to Beverly Crusher, who was clutching a data pad and apparently headed in the direction Vash had just come from. "Oh, pardon me," said Crusher, looking somewhat taken aback. Vash didn't miss a beat.

"He's all yours," said Vash, with a dismissive wave back toward Picard's room and continued her quick pace down the corridor.

* * *

Puzzled, Crusher stepped through the still open door to Picard's quarters. She had been intent on getting her autopsy report to the captain before his meeting at 0830 with Haftel. At first, she had argued with him and insisted on examining the lab prior to completing her report, but the events of yesterday afternoon had changed everyone's priorities. Picard seemed convinced that he would be able to use the results of the report to his advantage with Haftel and that more importantly his death was somehow related to the time distortions at the Institute.

Stepping into his quarters she expected to find a nice breakfast laid out. Instead she found the Captain standing in the middle of his quarters wearing a bathrobe. If his expression had not been so confused and angry, she would have laughed. Instead, not wanting to damage his dignity further, she simply handed him the data pad. "The report you asked for, sir."

Picard took the report from her slowly. "Thank you, Doctor." He looked dully at the pad, then back up at her.

Crusher took a deep breath. "Jean-Luc, are you alright? Vash left in quite a hurry…"

He looked away. "I'm fine. Vash seems determined to get into trouble, and I'm not going to try to stop her this time."

Beverly frowned. "What kind of trouble? Is she alright?" Despite her annoyance with Vash, she didn't want to see Jean-Luc's part-time girlfriend hurt.

Picard laughed, thoroughly surprised by Crusher's concern. "Would you believe she refused to tell me what she was up to? Just some kind of expedition to Exo III, which she claims will be very lucrative."

He sat down on the couch, and motioned for her to sit beside him. "Perhaps you were right, and I am not fine after all…I suppose I have been more affected by Jenice's death than I thought I would be."

Crusher's expression softened as she sat down. "Jean-Luc, she was very special to you. Once all of this is over, maybe you should considering take some time for yourself."

"Time for what?" He asked distractedly.

Crusher stared at him, trying to keep the amazement out of her expression. Once again she was struck by his inability to appreciate his own feelings. "To mourn her passing," she said quietly.

He shook his head dismissively. "Beverly, I need to find out how and why she died. Until I do that, I don't deserve to mourn her."

"You're a very stubborn man, do you know that?" Crusher stood up with a sigh as Picard frowned up at her. She walked away and replicated herself an apple. Looking back at him, she noted how vulnerable he looked sitting in his bathrobe, and yet still, there was something very alluring about him at that moment. Suddenly feeling distracted in ways she hadn't felt in some time, she took a loud bite of her apple. "Jean-Luc, I've got to go. Worf is waiting for me in Manheim's lab. But, if you would like to talk later—and Vash is not around of course" she added with a brazen smile, "I'd love to talk."

Picard stood up, adjusting his robe again. He smiled hopefully. "You know, once this all of this over, I might take you up on that offer."

She smiled, and then turned around when she reached the door. "Oh, I forgot to let you know a little gem we found out yesterday. Might help you in your meeting with Haftel today."

"Oh?"

"Sylvia Sharpe, the young woman who found Manheim's body—she's Haftel's daughter."

* * *

**Two hours later...**

"I don't know this material", said Crusher curiously as she slowly moved her tricorder over a small area of the floor a second time. The microscopic particles that displayed on her screen were immobile, and yet they seemed somewhat familiar. They were not organic...or were they?

She stood up somewhat unsteadily and exhaled loudly. She was tired. She and Worf had been scouring Manheim's laboratory for hours. She turned to regard Worf because she refused to look over the edge of the platform. Crusher was deathly afraid of heights and here they were nearly 10 meters high searching for clues. "There's no match for it in the universal database either," she said, shaking off her dizziness. Worf appeared unphased by the height which made her even more determined to keep her composure.

"Except" he rumbled, "there _is_ a match for this." He held up a small sample container which held a tiny bit of fiber.

"A piece of uniform?" Crusher raised an eyebrow.

"It does not match what Manheim was wearing when he was killed. It appears to be from a lab coat much like your own, Doctor", clarified Worf. Crusher was mildly amused because he sounded almost accusatory.

"Worf, most likely anyone who worked in this lab wore clothing made of a similar chemically resistant material."

"But how many lab assistants were allowed on this platform?" said Worf. "Manheim was highly protective of his work. He might have wanted to limit access to this device."

Crusher shrugged. "His personal logs don't mention any assistants except for Jenice Manheim. How much practical help she actually provided him with is questionable. And, as we know, she passed away months before her husband."

"There is still the matter of Sylvia Sharpe."

Crusher sighed and shut her tricorder. "Worf, I know you don't want her to get away with anything, but how could she be guilty? There's no organic material here aside from Manheim's hair and skin cells. That indicates he was the only person up here—but then, based on his cause of death, we know that is not possible."

"Perhaps she wore an environmental suit."

"Yes, that might explain the lack of DNA, apart from Manheim's, but even environmental suits leave trace materials behind, and the only thing we've found is this lab coat fiber, and this…other substance. I would argue that even if she _had _killed him…given the time of death, she would not have had time to clean up the scene before reporting that she found his body."

"We cannot rule out that he was killed by a non-Human," rumbled Worf.

And that" said Crusher, tapping him on the chest with her tricorder, "is why we are going back to the morgue. I need to know what this substance is."

"'We?'" said Worf.

Crusher shrugged, moving over to the ladder. "Suit yourself, Worf. If you can find something better to do with your time, I'll meet up with you later. Oh, and I know you're afraid of the morgue. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," she added before disappearing out of sight down the ladder.

Worf cursed under his breath.

* * *

"Did you tell the Captain it was a Ferengi ship?" asked Worf as he and Riker walked toward the docking bays on the station.

"Yes, and he was not happy to hear that."

Worf smiled grimly. "The Captain hates Ferengi," observed Worf.

Riker looked at him sideways. "Hate is kind of a strong word, isn't it?"

"No," said Worf.

Riker shook his head. He had found Worf waiting outside of the station morgue. The Klingon seemed a little to eager to accompany Riker to investigate Docking Bay 24. According to the schedule, the _Deceit _was due to arrive in 10 minutes. He could not get past the feeling that there was no reason for the Ferengi to be doing business at the Daystrom Institute. Not in one of the most respected institutions in the galaxy.

He and Worf stopped next to a wall control panel. "Computer, who is in command of the Ferengi vessel, _Deceit_?"

"The _Deceit_ is commanded by Tog."

"What is his affiliation?" demanded Worf.

"His classification is reported as an 'unaffiliated merchant'." answered the computer.

"What merchandise does he trade?"

"Precious metals," said the computer.

Riker folded his arms over his chest. "List the contents of the last cargo delivered to the Daystrom Institute by this vessel."

"This cargo is not considered public record."

"What about the incoming cargo? I want to see the shipping manifest," demanded Riker.

"This cargo is not considered public record."

"On whose orders, Computer?"

"Admiral Haftel, sir."

"Big surprise," Riker muttered.

"Please repeat your inquiry, Commander," said the Computer.

"Never mind," said Riker, walking away. He motioned Worf to follow. "Look, I don't know, what this means, but I don't like it."

Worf's eyes glittered. "And _I _do not like Ferengi. So we are going to rectify the situation then," he growled hopefully.

Riker shook his head again. "No. _I'm_ going to investigate, but I need you to try and get Captain Picard away from Haftel so you can let him know about this development. It may be nothing, but it looks like yet another secret that Haftel is keeping. Starfleet Admiral or not, he worries me."

* * *

The docking bay held only two ships: The _Deceit_, and a large unmarked shuttle. Riker crouched down behind several large cargo containers, as confident as possible that he was out of sight. From his hiding place, he watched as container after container was quickly unloaded from the _Deceit_. A small Ferengi with a shiny headdress, who he assumed was Tog, appeared to be running the show and giving orders to several other Ferengi. A huge, ugly Nausiccan stood guard. Riker carefully moved as close as possible.

Riker quietly opened his tricorder and aimed it at the nearest piece of cargo. Keeping one eye on the Nausiccan, he kept the tricorder hidden from sight. Momentarily the device hummed, and his scan was complete. A thought occurred to him, and almost without thinking he placed the tricorder on the floor, and spoke quickly into his communicator before placing it on top of the tricorder. A moment later, the tricorder beamed away with a bluish white shimmer. As he looked up, he felt the blow on the back of his neck. As blinding pain faded to grey and then to black, and he could have sworn he heard the deep laugh of a Nausiccan.

The Nausiccan stood over the Starfleet human. He didn't have time to drag this human anywhere, didn't want to kill him, but he definitely didn't want him waking up. After kicking the human once with his giant boot, he set his weapon to stun, fired and felt certain he would be asleep for at least long enough to finish the cargo exchange. The Nausiccan nodded at Tog and headed off to finish the job.

**End of Part 4**


End file.
